


The Cloak

by starkidpatronus



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Emotional Infidelity, Episode: s02e02 The Once and Future Queen, M/M, POV Merlin (Merlin), POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 17:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20764148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkidpatronus/pseuds/starkidpatronus
Summary: Arthur borrows Merlin's cloak.He doesn't give it back.They don't talk about it.





	The Cloak

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Merlin Canon Fest 2019, for the episode 2x02: The Once and Future Queen.  
Huge thank you to my wonderful beta, Dance_Addict_19, and to the fantastic mods of this fest!

Merlin thinks this whole plan of Arthur’s is rather silly. Of course he’s treated differently from others; he’s the  _ prince _ , for God’s sake. No one is going to  _ actually  _ risk killing him. But Arthur insists, and so Merlin obliges.

He thinks nothing of it when Arthur asks (or rather, demands) to borrow some of Merlin’s clothes so that he can better “play the part.” The ridiculousness of the plan is growing, but it will all be over quickly enough.

Then Merlin sees Arthur put on Merlin’s clothes. And—oh. Oh, that’s—oh.

Merlin’s heart does a weird twisting in his chest as he struggles to catch his breath—and not from the run up to the hill. Merlin hadn’t been prepared for this, for the way the shirt is just a little tight over Arthur’s chest, the way the blue of the cloak’s fabric matches the blue of Arthur’s eyes nearly perfectly. The simple knowledge that Arthur is wearing  _ Merlin’s  _ clothes. It all creates a vaguely heady feeling.

Merlin is not an idiot, despite what Arthur regularly claims. He already knows about his feelings for the prince. He just hadn’t anticipated how much this sight would bring them to the forefront of his mind.

Arthur wears Merlin’s clothes every day that week. Every day that week, Merlin has to breathe deeply and tell himself to calm down. 

Arthur keeps the cloak.

Merlin tries hard not to think about it.

Every time Arthur wears the cloak, Merlin has to think about it.  _ Why is he wearing it? Why does he wear it so often? Has he been wearing it more often recently? Why did he keep it in the first place? Why, why, why? _

He only ever wears it at night when he is going out undercover, presumably to visit Gwen, which does not make any of this any easier. Part of Merlin wishes Arthur would just hurry up and propose already so that he can stop seeing Arthur wear the cloak so much. The other, larger part of Merlin dreads the day when Arthur does finally propose.

One night, Merlin has finally had enough and demands, “Why did you keep it?”

“Keep what?” Arthur replies, tying the strings of the cloak together.

“The cloak,” Merlin clarifies. “ _ My  _ cloak.”

“ _ Your  _ cloak?” Arthur throws back, turning on Merlin. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“That is my cloak,” Merlin states squarely. “You borrowed it years ago when you were pretending to be a peasant in the tournament and you never gave it back. And you still wear it!”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur says, avoiding Merlin’s eye. “This has always been my cloak.”

“ _ No _ ,” Merlin insists, “it  _ hasn’t _ . And you know it.”

Arthur sighs. “All right, fine.” Merlin is a little surprised by how easily Arthur gives in this time. “I know.”

“So then  _ why? _ ” Merlin pushes. “Why have you kept it? Why are you still wearing it?”

Arthur fixes his gaze on Merlin. “Why haven’t you asked for it back?”

And Merlin—Merlin has nothing to say to that.

Arthur keeps wearing the cloak. Every time Merlin washes it, he bites his tongue.

Arthur even wears it when he slips into the night to propose to Gwen. Merlin ties the strings for him. Arthur brings Merlin with him to help set up. Merlin focuses on lighting candles, not on the fact that Arthur keeps the cloak on until the very last second.

After that, Merlin silently removes the cloak from Arthur’s wardrobe. If Arthur notices, he doesn’t comment on it. At least, not until he visits his father’s spirit.

Gwen is spending the night in her own chambers, respecting Arthur’s wishes for privacy in the continued mourning of his father. Merlin asks Arthur if there is anything else he requires for the night and Arthur answers, “Yes.” Merlin raises his eyebrows and Arthur elaborates, not looking at Merlin, “The cloak.”

Merlin blinks, but doesn’t pretend not to know what Arthur is talking about. He merely nods, tells Arthur he will be right back, and retrieves the cloak from his room, returning to Arthur’s chambers to present it to him. Arthur gratefully takes the cloak from where he lies in bed, muttering a soft, “Thank you.”

Merlin nods again and goes to leave. Before he does, though, he cannot resist turning back to ask, “Why?”

Arthur sighs. “Don’t use this against me later.”

“I never would.”

He merely arches a brow at that before sighing again and saying, “It…comforts me. Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Is that the only word you know?” When Merlin doesn’t yield, Arthur relents, “It’s soft. And…it smells like you.”

Merlin swallows past the lump in his throat. “Goodnight, sire.”

“Merlin, I—”

But Merlin is already gone.

He can’t face the implications of what Arthur’s said. He can’t, so he won’t. Arthur seems to get the message, as he never brings it up again. Merlin says nothing when he finds the cloak in Arthur’s wardrobe again. He doesn’t take it back, either.

One day, when it’s just the two of them in the king’s chambers as Merlin puts the cloak away, Gwen remarks, “It’s a nice cloak.”

“Er—yeah, it is,” Merlin replies carefully, still folding and putting away the clothes.

“It was yours, wasn’t it?”

“I—don’t really remember. I mean, I—don’t remember ever having it. And I have so few clothes, I’d probably remembering losing one of them.”

“I remember you wearing it.”

“Well, it’s not a particularly remarkable piece of fabric, so I might have something similar in—”

“Merlin,” Gwen cuts him off firmly, “I know.”

Merlin swallows. “Know what?”

Gwen huffs out a humorless laugh. “Everything.”

Merlin stares. Gwen stares right back. He can think of nothing to say but, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“Nothing has ever happened; you have to believe—”

“I know.”

“What can I do to fix this?”

“There’s nothing to fix,” Gwen declares, voice only a little choked. “The king is happy. That is all that is required.”

“Gwen, I—”

“Please just leave, Merlin.”

Merlin does as he is told, taking the remaining laundry with him.

He wonders idly during chores if Gwen has ever had a similar conversation with Arthur. Do they ever speak Merlin’s name when it’s just the two of them? What do their faces look like when they do? Angry? Hurt? Resigned?

The night after Mordred escapes Camelot, Arthur wraps himself in the cloak. Merlin believes that will be the end of it, until Arthur reaches out to grasp his wrist and request, “Stay?”

Merlin thinks of Gwen, alone in her chambers, undoubtedly knowing her husband is wrapped in his manservant’s cloak. Then he stops thinking of Gwen and climbs into bed next to Arthur. Arthur tries to untangle himself from the cloak to wrap himself in Merlin instead, but Merlin holds out, turning on his side so he faces away from Arthur. They can only go so far with this.

Arthur sighs. “Sometimes, I wish—”

“I know,” Merlin cuts him off because he cannot hear the rest of that sentence. “Me too.” He wishes all the time.

They sleep in late the next morning. Arthur misses his council meeting. Gwen refuses to look at either of them.

She still doesn’t look at Merlin when she tells him in the corridor, “Don’t think it escaped my notice how my husband wore your cloak when he visited me while courting.”

Merlin says nothing.

In the end, none of it matters. They both end up losing him.

Merlin hates everything, everything in the entire world, except the man he holds in his arms. The center of his universe. His everything. A king, akin to a god—dying.

Merlin is doing his utmost to ignore the truth of what is happening, doing all he can to stay strong so that Arthur can enjoy his final moments, but then he’ll remember these are Arthur’s  _ final moments _ and Merlin cannot contain his sobs.

“The cloak,” Arthur gets out. “I—I want you to have the cloak.”

Merlin manages to laugh through his tears. “You mean my cloak?”

Arthur cracks a grin. “Yeah. Your cloak.” Then, he groans, clutching his side. Merlin grabs his hand.

“Hey, hey,” he says, forcing Arthur to look at him. “Our cloak.”

Arthur smiles again. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Our cloak.”

He inhales sharply, pierces Merlin once more with that look of his, and then he’s gone.

Merlin keeps the cloak.

He loses most other things from his own life--most of his old shirts and shoes and trinkets. The few things he keeps are his blue shirt, his red and blue scarves, his brown jacket, his sturdy boots, and that cloak.

On the 1,553rd anniversary of Arthur’s death, Merlin takes the cloak out of its waterproof and fireproof bag and drags it over his shoulders, not bothering to tie the strings in front. He lies on his rickety old bed in a puddle of the cloak and breathes in Arthur’s long-gone scent.

Merlin cries for the first time in a very, very long time.

He isn’t sure when he became null to it all, to the ever-present loss of his best friend. The love of his life. He supposes it was some one hundred years after Arthur’s death. It just...sort of happened. He had to keep living, so he had to become numb to the pain of it.

But Merlin lets himself feel it. For the first time in 953 years, he lets himself feel it all. The grief. The heartbreak. The anguish. The guilt. The regret. The pain, the pain, the never-ending  _ pain _ .

If Merlin had called the dragon sooner. If Merlin had targeted Mordred, as he knew he had to. If Merlin had not let himself lose his magic. If Merlin had not poisoned Morgana. If Merlin had let Mordred die when he had the chance. If, if, if, if, if, if,  _ if _ .

He plays it over and over again in his mind, poking holes and seeing every mistake he ever made. Everything he should have seen and done. He curls further into Arthur’s cloak and cries harder. He realizes that this is the closest he has ever come to holding Arthur. The screams start when Merlin lets himself remember holding Arthur in his arms, how he only ever got to do it when Arthur was moments from death. How much time they wasted. How much they missed out on. He wails and wails and no god cares to hear it.

Arthur stays dead.

After that night, Merlin keeps the cloak out. Every other day or so, he wears it. Never when he goes out, of course, but around the house. Eventually, it becomes part of his usual routine every day. Wake up, make breakfast, take off the cloak, go out for groceries, come home, put on the cloak, put away the groceries, eat dinner, and sleep. He does this all while still wearing the cloak.

Crutches are bad and Merlin knows the cloak will do more harm than good for him in the end, but right now, it is nice to have it as a safety blanket. Nice to feel connected to Arthur again, even if it is in this tiny way.

He wonders if Arthur is waiting the same way Merlin is, just on the other side. He hopes Arthur has something like the cloak. But then, how could he? That thought just makes Merlin sadder. It was better when he was numb to all this.

When Merlin feels the fabric of the cloak, he can see Arthur’s face perfectly: lit by candlelight, framed by his golden hair, telling Merlin they will  _ not  _ be sharing a bed together. Merlin laughs softly to himself, then cries a little. He’s always crying these days, damn it. Resigned to another night of tears, he sighs and whispers, “I really miss you.” He knows Arthur can’t hear him, but maybe he can. Just a little.

If Merlin was younger, he would have thought that surely Brexit would be Albion’s time of greatest need, surely Arthur would come back now. But he’s older now so he knows better. He’s resigned himself to the fact that he will never know when Arthur’s return will be until it happens.

Sure enough, the day Arthur returns is a perfectly ordinary day. No sign, no magical stirring. Merlin just looked out the window of his shack one day and saw a figure emerging from the lake.

It’s funny; he’s been so emotional over the past few years about everything that has happened with Arthur, but in the moment when he greets Arthur, who is crying as he comes out of the lake, he is strangely detached. After all, it’s probably just another daydream that’s become too vivid.

Arthur is sobbing into his chest, blubbering as he says, “Merlin, I can’t believe it, I--it’s really you, yes? Tell me it’s really you.”

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin says, running a comforting hand over Arthur’s hair, “it’s really me.”

“Gods, Merlin, I--” Arthur chokes, overemotional. “I missed you  _ so  _ much.”

“I missed you too,” Merlin says, because he did, he really, truly did. “Let’s go inside, get you dry.”

It’s mechanical, the way Merlin helps Arthur out of his Pendragon red cloak and armor, because of course he’s still wearing what Merlin burned his body in. Merlin gives him a towel to dry himself with, avoiding Arthur’s gaze the whole time.

“Let me get you something to wear,” Merlin says, before turning away. Arthur, however, catches Merlin’s wrist in his hand.

“Merlin,” he says in that voice of his that forces Merlin to look up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

“It’s  _ something _ ,” Arthur insists. “Tell me.”

Merlin heaves a heavy sigh. “I guess I don’t really believe you’re here.”

“I  _ am _ here,” Arthur asserts, placing both hands on either of Merlin’s cheeks. “I  _ am _ , Merlin, I swear it.”

Merlin just smiles sadly. “All right. You’re here.” He’s had dreams where Arthur’s made that promise before.

“How can I prove it to you?” Arthur begs.

Merlin shakes his head, still smiling. “You can’t.”

He exits into the next room, Arthur close on his heels. “Merlin, come on, it’s me!”

“I’ve heard that before,” Merlin says dully. “Come on, let’s get you into something warm before you leave again.”

“I’m not  _ leaving! _ ” Arthur protests. Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes. His imagination is really pulling out all the stops today.

“Here,” Merlin says, holding out Arthur’s old white tunic, brown breeches, and fresh underclothes made in the style Arthur is used to. “I preserved them for you.”

Arthur takes the clothes gingerly, as if not believing what he is holding. “I--” He swallows. “How long has it been?”

“1,556 years,” Merlin answers robotically. “Give or take a few days.”

Arthur stares at Merlin. “You had these preserved this long?”

“Yes,” Merlin answers. “I thought they might bring you comfort. Go on, put them on.”

Arthur does so, slowly. He freezes, though, halfway through putting on his tunic. “That’s my cloak.”

“What?” Merlin questions.

“You’re wearing my cloak,” Arthur clarifies, voice breaking as he continues to stare at Merlin.

Merlin looks down. He is, in fact, wearing the blue cloak. He’d honestly forgotten, it had become such a part of him at this point.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you wearing it?”   


Merlin stares at Arthur. This part of the daydream has never happened before. He answers honestly, “It smells like you.” Then he laughs a little at himself. “At least, it used to. I’m probably just imagining it by now.”

Arthur steps forward, taking Merlin’s face in his hands again. “I smell like me. I  _ am  _ me. Here.” He holds his hand up to Merlin’s nose. “Smell.”

Merlin shakes his head. “I’ll still just be thinking it’s the cloak.”

“Screw the damn cloak, Merlin,” Arthur grits out, yanking the cloak from around Merlin’s shoulders and tossing it into a corner of the room. “ _ Smell _ .”

Merlin does. He takes Arthur’s hand and inhales the scent there, the smell of armor and parchment and ink and metal. The smell of the cloak. The smell of Arthur.  _ Arthur _ .

Merlin gazes up at Arthur, places his hands over-top the one Arthur is holding to Merlin’s nose, and cries.

It’s Arthur’s turn to hold Merlin as he sobs against Arthur’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out. “I didn’t--I didn’t realize--I didn’t think--I thought--”

“I know,” Arthur says softly, running his hand up and down Merlin’s back comfortingly. “I know, it’s all right, I know.”

“You’re really here,” Merlin says, grabbing onto Arthur’s shoulders as if he can turn his fingers into claws to keep Arthur in place forever. “You’re really, truly, actually  _ here _ .”

“I am,” Arthur confirms, still rubbing Merlin’s back. “I really am. And you are too.”

Merlin cries some more and Arthur holds him through it, until Merlin takes a few shuddering, steadying breaths. He pulls away, only a bit, so that he can look at Arthur’s face. He always forgets he’s taller than Arthur until they’re close like this. Looking down at him feels a little weird still, even after all this time. Maybe especially after all this time.

“You’re real,” he breathes.

“So are you,” Arthur breathes back.

Merlin blinks. “Was it as bad for you?” he inquires. “The waiting, I mean.”

“How bad was it for you?”

“Awful,” Merlin answers. “No words. I had to numb myself to it after a while. And then once I un-numbed myself...it was even worse than before.”

Arthur nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, like that.”

Merlin takes a deep breath and wonders vaguely why the gods have cursed them so.

“You really kept the cloak,” Arthur says, still staring at Merlin. “After all this time, you still have it. And it’s just the way it was.”

“I also have some of my old clothes,” Merlin points out, “and some of yours.”

“Yes, but,” Arthur persists, “the cloak is...you know it’s different, Merlin.”

Merlin nods, looking down. “I do, yeah.”

Arthur breathes deeply, bracing Merlin’s face once more softly as he tips their foreheads together. “Oh, Merlin,” he sighs, pulling back to look Merlin in the eyes. “Tell me--all these years--tell me I haven’t been the only one feeling this.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes back in shock, because how could Arthur not know, “it’s only ever been you.”

Apparently, that is all Arthur needs, as he launches forward and puts his lips on Merlin’s. Merlin kisses back because it is all he knows how to do at this point, all he can understand, all he has ever wanted.

The kiss very quickly turns open-mouthed, then very quickly Arthur has Merlin pressed up against the wall. Very quickly, they both play a part in ripping Arthur’s shirt off over his head. Merlin isn’t thinking, he’s just going with what feels natural, what feels right, what he’s always wanted to do. Arthur starts rutting against him and Merlin just accepts it, rides Arthur’s rhythm because he cannot fathom doing anything else.

“Want you,” Arthur breathes into Merlin’s mouth.

And that--the implication of that--gives Merlin room to pause. “You--you just came back,” he pants as Arthur presses kisses all down Merlin’s neck.

“Wanted you forever.”

“Have you--have you ever been with a man before?”

Arthur colors, pulling back slightly and looking away. “No.”

“We should--we should talk about this first,” Merlin says, forcing himself to be rational. “We shouldn’t do anything more until we talk.”

Arthur huffs out a frustrated noise, but doesn’t argue; he steps back, freeing Merlin from the wall. Merlin takes him in, the tousled blond hair, the bitten red lips, the dilated pupils in his blue eyes. Jesus.

Then, Merlin laughs a little, prompting Arthur to ask, “What?”

“That shirt has lasted over 1,500 years,” Merlin declares, “and it only took you being back half an hour for it to be destroyed.”

Arthur looks down at himself to see that it’s true; the shirt is completely ruined, half of it still hanging off Arthur and the other half on the floor. Tattered and practically irreparable. “Well,” he says with a shrug, “I’m sure you can fix that with all your magic.”

There’s a slight edge to it that tells Merlin this issue isn’t quite settled yet, but he’s too tired to get into it right now. He just replies, “It’s not that simple. Come on, I’ll make some tea and we can talk.”

They talk for a long, long time. They do other things too, but Merlin and Arthur never stop talking again.

They put away the cloak for good and let the moths eat it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
